


This Game

by suitesamba



Series: The "This" Series [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humor, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1706561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home from work late and finds Billy Wiggins waiting on the stairs.</p>
<p>This story is part 8 of the "This" Series - the premise being that Sherlock and John were not interrupted by the client during stag night and things progressed beyond mere friendship. Recent past John/Mary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Game

Someone is sitting on the stairs.

John, finally home from work, more than an hour late, pauses with his foot on the first riser and stares at the gangly, hunched over shape two-thirds of the way to the top.

The man greets him as he stares.

“’ello.”

“Hello,” responds John carefully. He brings his second foot up and looks past the man. The door to the flat is closed. They’ve had a fair number of clients over the years, but clients are admitted by Mrs. Hudson and personally ushered up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson doesn’t allow just anyone in.

Except – well, except she let Mary in that day she’d brought back John’s jumpers.

Does that mean Mary’s in the flat now? Then who the hell is this man?

“Do you need something?” John asks. The man is looking at him like he’s an intruder in his own home.

“No.” The man spreads his spindly legs out a bit, as if he thinks John might try to get around him on the stairs. “’e told me to wait here.”

“Sherlock asked you to wait there?” John edges up one more step. “Who are you?”

“Bill Wiggins,” answers the man. He straightens a bit. “They call me the Wig.” He shoots John a challenging look. 

“Alright,” responds John slowly. “Why are you here…Bill?”

Bill shakes his head.

“She made me come with ‘er. Took my knife and wallet. Thought she’d find you here, I s’pose. But we got ‘ere and found Shezza instead.”

“Shezza?” John plays along dumbly.

“My boss.”

“Your boss? You’re working for Sherlock? What are you doing?”

“Only keeping an eye out on ‘er.” The man arches an eyebrow at John. “You know, the usual. Where she goes, who she sees. She caught me outside the boyfriend’s flat. Broke my arm.” He winces. “It’s all squishy. Is it supposed to feel squishy?”

John notes for the first time that the man is cradling his arm tightly.

“So…” He starts and stops, brain futilely trying to process all of this. “You work for Shezza. Sherlock Holmes, right?”

“That’s what she called him,” he says. He sounds disgruntled, but then perks up. “You’re a doctor, right? Would you look at my arm?”

“How do you know I’m a doctor?” John asks. What the hell is Sherlock up to?

“Dr. John Watson. Your picture’s in the file.”

John inhales and releases the breath slowly. 

“This woman you’re following – blonde? Petite?”

Wiggins frowns. “She’s stronger than she looks.”

“Budge over.”

Bill Wiggins obligingly scoots to the side and John climbs the stairs and sits beside him. He cannot process this. Sherlock is paying Bill Wiggins to follow Mary. Mary - _his_ Mary – caught on and…what? Disarmed the man? Stole his wallet? Hauled him back to 221B because she thought John was having her followed? And she has a boyfriend now?

And what the _hell_ kind of name is _Shezza_? 

He takes out his mobile.

_You’ve got one minute to get out here and explain, Shezza -_

He ticks out the time with the toe of his shoe.

The door opens thirty seconds later.

John stands to the side as Mary – very calmly – leaves the flat and walks down the stairs.

“Hello, John,” she says as she passes, voice clipped and polite.

“Thanks for stopping by,” calls out Sherlock. He squeezes his hands together and gives John a falsely bright smile.

John stares after Mary until he hears the street door close, then slowly turns to glare at Sherlock.

“Should I go after her?” asks Wiggins.

“Right – should he go after her?” repeats John loudly.

The smile on Sherlock’s face has faded somewhat.

“Pay the man and send him on his way, _Shez,_ ” John says as he walks into the flat and heads for the kitchen. 

Two mugs sit on the table, one still steaming. 

He is angry. Irate. Betrayed. He could wring Sherlock’s neck. His hand curls into a fist, literally itching to punch him.

He is totally ensnared in whatever game this is, whatever mischief Sherlock is up to now.

He cannot believe how much he’s missed this.

He makes tea from the still hot kettle, sits down at the table, and waits for Sherlock.


End file.
